


The Prince and the Pauper (who drives an Uber)

by peterqpan



Series: Harringrove Works [5]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: ACTUAL SEXYTIMES, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Billy's basically a single parent, Depressing past but hopeful present, He and Max ran away, M/M, Schmoop, Steve's actual royalty, The quest for a winged buffalo plushie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27987192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterqpan/pseuds/peterqpan
Summary: Billy's just waiting for his Uber fare, working late, supporting Max, and barely paying for college, when an actual Prince Charming climbs into the back of his cab.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Harringrove Works [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003
Comments: 66
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlashMountain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlashMountain/gifts).



> No sex scenes yet, but I'll mark them with a horizontal line when they show up!
> 
> Not sure where this one's going. This is about a quarter of what I have written though, so maybe...more soon?

Billy pulled up alongside the line of parked cars outside the embassy to wait for his Uber fare, ignoring the honks, and clicking through his playlists for the one Max had rated “least offensive”. He frowned into his glove compartment at the assorted air fresheners, and grabbed a cold bottle of water, sticking it in the cup holder for the back seats. 

He checked his shirt—probably he was picking up a janitor, but just his luck some prime minister’s car blew a tire, and _ there he’d be  _ with some leader of a country and secret service in his car, covered with dried beans and guac like he’d killed a burrito with a spear and eaten its corpse with both hands, roaring and beating his chest—his shirt was clean, and he took a steadying breath. 

While he was yanking his earring out and dropping it in the cup holder, his fare ducked inside behind him. “Hey,” Billy said, over the honking of the surrounding—furious—drivers, “You’re my fare? Mind if I get your full name?”

Something clonked into the door opposite his fare, and rattled around on the floor, and the man—younger than _ Billy,  _ Billy was fairly sure—flopped sideways across the seats with a groan. Then he started _ snickering.  _ “You sure you want all of it? You got something to write it down?”

Billy glared over his shoulder. _ “Are you Steve,  _ my _ fare... _ what the _ hell  _ are you wearing?!” 

“You don’t like my sash?” his presumed fare laughed, lying across Billy’s back seats in some kind of extremely shiny white outfit, with medals, and a cross on a chain. “They said it matched my eyes.”

“What the _ hell  _ are you…” Billy trailed off again. “Is that a _ sword?  _ Is that a _ tiara  _ on my floor?! Why in the _ fuck—” _

“It’s a coronet,” the actual Disney Prince in his back seat corrected him, putting his probably very expensive loafers on the _ window  _ as he laid back, closing his eyes.

“Get your goddamn feet off my window,” Billy hissed. “You _ are my fare,  _ right? You’re not just some...cosplaying menace. Or is cosplay Cinderella about to climb in?” he squinted suspiciously at the embassy, and the irritating pile of shiny clothes in the back laughed again.

“I’m Stephen of Blois,” he said, and Billy’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. “I’m Grand Cross of the Order of the House of Orange.”

“You’re the right _ person— _ the fuck does that even mean,” Billy growled, pulling forward into traffic amidst an even louder cacophony of honks, like a herd of geese. 

‘Stephen’ pointed at one of the medals. “Royal Air Squadron Commander,” he offered, and Billy contemplated hitting the brakes so hard his passenger fell off the seat.

“Stop fucking with me. Where the hell are we going,” he snarled, and all he got was a sigh. 

“Anywhere, I guess. Where do people go when they’re fleeing the scene of a crime?” He sat up and leaned forward between the seats, and Billy got a noseful of expensive soap, aftershave, and breath against his ear. His very-much-gay dick woke up, and he cursed it, gritting his teeth. 

“You’re saying you’re a _ fugitive?  _ What’d you do, steal that ensemble from Elvis?” he shot back, and Steve snorted.

“No, I, uh. I just. I’m escaping a wedding.”

“Oh, shit,” Billy stared into the rearview mirror, and almost hit the car in front. “You—you what, you just left somebody standing at the altar?! That’s—what the _ shit—” _

“No!” Steve yelped, then let his forehead fall against the seat behind Billy’s head, and groaned. “I didn’t—she just—I thought she, y’know, I didn’t think she _ wanted to  _ wanted to, but we’re friends? And then she started yelling at me about her friend Barb, and—”

“Speak English,” Billy suggested, and Steve kicked the back of his seat.

“I _ thought  _ we both knew we were getting married, and we’d just—be friends, you know, she’d do what...what she was going to do, and I’d do my thing, and we’d be _ married,  _ succession secured, you know, so nobody would care—”

“Holy shit, you really are. Somebody,” Billy sputtered, hunching his shoulders a little as he registered he probably would not get a five-star rating for shouting at royalty. “Some tourist told me she was in town for ‘the wedding’ the other day. Thought she just thought everybody knew her niece, or something.”

“It’s been arranged since we were _ six!”  _ Steve moaned, dropping back to lie across the seats again. He waved at the ceiling. “They got the cathedral and everything! She’s in the dress! And all of a sudden she starts crying ‘bullshit, bullshit’ that she can’t marry, because _ Barb.” _

“Who the hell is Barb,” Billy asked woodenly, his eyes wide as he turned onto a side street. “Wait, are you supposed to have a bodyguard?!”

“So I said okay, _ I’d  _ call it off, if she was—she was gonna set the whole thing on fire, I think. It’ll be super romantic in the news,” he said, sounding wistful. “She’ll probably forget to change out of her wedding dress and go propose to her librarian right in front of everybody. Just...stomp in in her twenty-four foot train and propose over the Information desk.” He sighed.

“Where the hell am I supposed to be driving,” Billy whispered, staring at the man in the back seat.

“I want drive-through,” whined Stephen of Blois, dropping his chin on the seat behind Billy’s shoulder. “I heard you can get _ anything  _ at a drivethrough in America.”

“Not really,” Billy sighed, glancing at the pleading brown eyes in his rearview mirror. “I mean. Burgers. Tacos. Ice cream.”

“Ice cream,” breathed the royal in his backseat. “I want ice cream. I _ deserve  _ ice cream.”

“It’s not very _ good  _ ice cream,” Billy told him. “I mean. You might want a...restaurant, or something.”

“Ice cream!” Stephen said, throwing his hand forward like he was leading a charge, and Billy headed for the Dairy Queen. 

“What do I even call you?” Billy asked, making an illegal u-turn as his passenger whooped. “Stephen?”

“Ugh, no. Steve is fine,” said Steve, pressing his face against the side window, kicking his coronet, and tossing it into the front passenger seat. It glittered as it went by.

“Put your damn seatbelt on,” Billy choked, watching the thing roll around, diamonds gleaming. 

Steve grinned over, and did not.

“Where you actually going?” Billy asked, once they were in line. “Back to your hotel?”

“God, no, everybody’s going to yell at me,” Steve said, eyes narrowed at the menu. “May I...eat in your car?”

“Don’t order food,” Billy made a face. “The ice cream’s okay, but the food is garbage.”

“Hmm,” Steve nodded, but ordered like five things, prompting Billy for _ his  _ order, and then flirted with the people at the window, who stared open-mouthed.

“I think everybody else knows who you are,” Billy said, finally, as they sat in the parking lot, and his royal passenger climbed out to sit in the front. 

Steve chucked the coronet out of his seat again, over his shoulder into the back, and unwrapped everything to make happy humming noises into a banana split. “Nope,” he said, around a whole scoop of ice cream with pineapple syrup. It dripped on his fancy jacket, and he swallowed, clearing his throat. “M’nobody. Where else can we go?”

“...I don’t know,” Billy ate his Blizzard with a spoon, watching the leader of some country somewhere trying to tie a knot, with his _ tongue,  _ in the stem of the cherry off the sundae he’d bought at Dairy Queen. 

After watching his fare try to eat a chocolate-dipped cone, and discover the inherent _ trap  _ as the melted ice cream in the chocolate shell escaped through a crack and jizzed all over his fingers and shiny gold medals, Billy groaned into his hands. He leaned over and yoinked the cone out of Steve’s hand as he stared in betrayal at the ice cream running down his elbow. 

Billy stuffed the ice cream grenade in the plastic bag their food had come in, and then started dabbing Steve off with a handful of napkins. 

“My _ ice cream cone,”  _ Steve whispered, his expression shifting from betrayal to heartbreak. “What have you _ done.” _

“Can’t believe you rule a country,” Billy growled back. “I disarmed your goddamn _ dipped cone bomb  _ before it ruined your fucking...Armani or whatever. _ Thank  _ me.”

“I was eating that,” Steve muttered, but he started to grin as Billy leaned in, scrubbing down his wrist and neck. Steve started _ laughing,  _ like Billy was the one being an idiot, and Billy felt himself flush as he folded the sticky napkin over and wiped ice cream off Steve’s jaw, and Steve smiled, his eyes dark and warm in the light from the streetlamps. His breath was warm on Billy’s fingers, and he smelled like chocolate. 

Billy wanted to lick it off his lips. He jerked back and put both hands on the steering wheel, where he could keep an eye on them. _Don’t touch him again,_ he told himself sternly, and took a few slow breaths, telling himself to stop _noticing_ the moles down Steve’s neck, and the texture of the hair on his arm in Billy’s hand. 

Billy took another bite of Blizzard, and thought fixedly about the condensation on the cold cup dripping through his fingers, and the roof of his mouth going numb.

“Hey,” Steve muttered, fiddling with his phone, his plastic spoon sticking out the side of his mouth. “Hey, Billy. I’ve got a bad idea. Let’s do something. While I have, you know, uh, no security. Really bad idea.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go _ bowling.” _

“What?!” Billy said, trying to breathe an oreo, and choked. 

Steve patted him on the back, shoving his phone in Billy’s face with a picture of a neon sign reading _ Leatherneck Lanes.  _ “Come on,” he leaned in, “—I just got stood up at the altar. Take me bowling?”

“Do you even _ know how to bowl?”  _ Billy asked, once his lungs had some air in them.

“It says they rent _ shoes,  _ and sell _ wings,”  _ said Steve, sounding perplexed. He frowned over, licking his lips, so they were shiny. “What are the wings for?”

Billy bit his lips together, _ on the clock,  _ yet wanting to lean in and push his _ fare  _ back against the seat, and lick into his mouth—and also, on top of it all, trying to think up a believable lie about buffalo wings. He stared into the prince’s intent brown eyes. “...they’re not real wings,” he confessed, unable to pull his mind off kissing.

“I know they’re not _ real wings,”  _ Steve rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Buffaloes don’t have _ wings.  _ Are they toy wings? Do you...do you buy accessories for your toy buffalo? It says they have a buffalo _ ranch.” _

Billy stared at the royalty in his car, mumbling about buffalo-themed bowling alleys, and wondered how anyone could stand him up at the altar.

Driving through for ice cream already had people snapping Steve’s photo, so for the bowling alley, Billy rummaged around in his bag and threw his sweatshirt at the prince’s head. “Change up, Charming,” he said, “—or we’ll summon up the media.”

“Oh, neat!” Steve said, _ excited  _ about the sweatshirt, and trying to spread it across the dash. “Is this a _ hoodie?  _ It is! Look, it has a little hood! And a front pocket, like a kangaroo!”

“Just put it _ on  _ before I shove it in your _ mouth,”  _ Billy hissed, his blood pounding in his ears as Steve stripped down, and the Royal Abs were exposed under the light of streetlamps. The rain on his windshield cast shadows of water trickling down Steve’s unbuttoned shirt and the skin of his flexing torso as he squirmed out of the stiff uniform-style jacket. He leaned back in the seat, his shirt sliding up with the jacket to show his chest hair and the flex of his shoulderblades, and then yanked it back down, pushing up his sleeves. It was still open all down the front. 

“Let me finish my ice cream,” Steve mumbled. “Before I get it on your hoodie.”

Billy stared straight ahead as Steve made MNAH MNEEEEH noises licking the underside of the banana split container, and then began licking ice cream off _ himself  _ from elbow to thumb. “Put the damn sweatshirt on,” Billy growled, both hands clenched on the steering wheel, and Steve laughed. 

“Don’t want to get it all sticky,” he said, and Billy glared over to meet sparkling brown eyes and a wide smile. 

He grabbed the hoodie and shoved it in his prince’s face, which was how he ended up with his arms around royalty, helping the prince of, it sounded like, several countries _ aim his balls. _

And Billy couldn’t stop giggling softly about the buffalos.

“They should have toy buffalos,” Steve insisted occasionally, out of the blue, glancing from Billy’s grin to the bar. “They should! I want one!”

“Yeah, sure, Your Highness,” Billy agreed, nodding with his eyes wide.

“Hey,” said Steve, watching his gutter ball pass the pins. “I have, ah, I have another one. Bad idea. Probably it’s stupid.”

“Let’s hear it,” said Billy, licking his lips, and rubbing his hands on his pants, because fucking _ Prince Steve  _ was warm and toned in Billy’s sweatshirt, and kept leaning into his space. “What’s your bad idea?”

Steve watched Billy’s mouth, grinning like an asshole, and Billy cleared his throat, stepping back. Steve stepped close again, close enough for Billy to feel his body heat. “Let’s get a motel,” he whispered, biting his lips in a tense smile. “Tonight.”

“Holy shit,” Billy staggered backward into the score calculator, staring at Steve’s face. 

He looked intent, but didn’t close the distance. _ Max is going to murder me,  _ Billy thought, licking his lips again. “Fuck. Yeah. Okay.” Steve grinned, and opened his mouth—probably to say something else irritating—and Billy held up a hand. “Wait, hold up. I gotta call my little sister.”

“You have a little sister?” Steve’s face softened, and Billy knew he was fucked. 

“Yeah, and I gotta let her know I’m not drunk in a ditch somewhere,” Billy muttered, turning away so he couldn’t see Prince Goddamn Charming, looking ridiculous in styled hair and casual clothes, his whole face an enthusiastic question mark about Billy’s only family. 

Max answered the phone with “I made tuna. You want some?”

“No, uh, I—” Billy turned to watch Steve lining himself up to throw again. His rented bowling shoes squeaked loudly against the floor, and the lights shone off his hair, rumpled where he’d yanked at his crown. 

He narrowed his eyes at other bowlers, glancing around and scooting his feet with an intent expression. The peal of raucous music from a pinball machine startled him, and he hopped sideways on one foot, but then firmed his jaw, rolled his shoulders, and used his Royal Grace to throw the carefully selected Royal Bowling Ball straight into the Royal Gutter. 

“What?” Max bit out. 

Billy swung to face the other way, smiling helplessly. “I, uh. I’ll be late.”

“Oh,” she said, and he heard a whoop from behind him, and turned around. A _ kid  _ was showing _ Billy’s  _ fugitive prince how to bowl, and it looked more like they were practising poses for the Power Rangers. “Billy?” came Max’s voice. “Uh. A-are you in a bar?”

“No!” he told her, grabbing the phone with both hands. “No, no, it’s—I mean, yeah, there’s a bar in here, but we’re bowling. I, uh, the um, my fare wanted to go bowling. And he doesn’t know how to bowl. I’m—I’m just showing him how to bowl.”

“Oh,” she said, and he hoped she was distracted, and not trying to stare through the phone as hard as he was. 

“We ordered some hot wings,” he reported. “And he wants to try root beer. He’s not from—they don’t have root beer. There. Where he’s from. I’m on the _ clock,  _ Max.”

“Okay,” she said, and he ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Max, he is _ hot as hell,  _ I am—I think I’m like 30% gayer since he got in my car—”

She laughed, but didn’t say anything.

“He’s a Disney character,” Billy hissed. “It’s okay, I-I _ swear.  _ This isn’t—I’m not—I’m not doing _...dangerous  _ dumb shit, I promise. I’m not fucking up. I—I am gonna have the dumbest story to tell you, but I gotta go.” 

“You left sunscreen in your pocket in the wash, asshole,” she said, rallying. “Dumber than that?”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry!” Billy laughed. “I owe you one.”

_ “Yeah  _ you do,” she muttered, and hung up.

Billy wandered back to Steve, still frowning down at his phone, and Steve threw an arm around his shoulder, leaning close. Billy inhaled cologne that probably cost as much as his rent. 

“Unexpected obligations?” Steve asked, smiling. 

He looked a little downcast, and Billy wondered what to _ say— _ his and Max’s family history was hardly first date material. With a  _ prince.  _ A prince who was his _ Uber fare,  _ he reminded himself, and not his _ date,  _ not really. The reminder was bracing, like stepping out into a cold wind. Billy’s had been the first car that pulled up, and he’d blushed and stared, and this prince had a few hours to kill. _ What am I doing,  _ Billy wondered. “I like to call and check in.”

“How old is she?” Steve asked. “Do you need to get back?”

“Uh,” Billy said, grimacing, and remembered Max had rented a movie they needed to watch, and he had homework for three classes.

“I apologize,” his prince said, stepping away. “Of course you have your own schedule. Thank you for your patience with me. Where would it be convenient to drop me off?”

“Shit, no,” Billy followed him like a moth, ready to smack himself to death against a shining light. “I’d be working all night anyway.” He picked out a bowling ball. “You haven’t even tried root beer. I got all night.”

“You’ll stay?” Steve’s polite smile broadened into a real grin, and his cheeks flushed. Billy wanted to _ bite  _ them. “...thank you.”

Billy _ tried,  _ honestly, to bowl badly, and even things out, but His Highness was unparalleled at somehow missing all the pins even when he managed to keep it in the lane. Towards the end of the game, Billy was actually trying to help him _ bowl _ —instead of pretending in order to wrap both arms around him—and Steve kept leaning back to try and see his face and almost knocking them over, so they were laughing so hard they nearly fell. 

Steve swiveled in his arms to face him, and Billy tried to pay attention as the right royal arms slid around his neck, the warm weight of a muscled body leaned against him, padded by Billy’s sweatshirt over starched groom trousers, and over it all Steve was grinning, pink-cheeked and a little smug. “Let’s go somewhere and talk,” he whispered.

Billy swallowed as his mouth started overproducing saliva, realizing he was about to get his face fucked in a bowling alley during work hours—by a man disappointed by the lack of winged buffalo plushies available for purchase.

“Yeah,” Billy whispered. “Yeah, okay.” He checked his back pocket for a condom, yanking Steve along behind him to the bathrooms, and then hauled him in the empty stall, and pinned him to the door, already breathing a little heavily in anticipation.

“Whoa,” Steve laughed again, watching Billy lick his lips. “Wow. Uh, I just— _ mmph.”  _ He opened his mouth for Billy’s, humming as he ran his hands down Billy’s back, and yanked him even closer with one hand on each of Billy’s ass cheeks. “Damn,” he whispered, pulling back, and Billy leaned in again, knowing men that dragged him into bathrooms didn’t tend to be _ patient,  _ but also that Steve still tasted like chocolate and ice cream, and he kept making little happy _ noises.  _

“Sorry,” Billy muttered, bringing his hand up to turn Steve’s head to just the right angle, and counting down fifteen seconds in his head to keep kissing the man before he had to pull back and get down to business. He could feel Steve’s smile bunched under his hand, and he couldn’t not kiss that too, mumbling ‘Sorry, sorry,’ again as Steve laughed.

“Just—jussec,” Steve grabbed Billy’s face with both hands and held him off, grinning. “Just—wait for a moment. You won’t get in trouble? Coming away with me?”

Billy snorted. “Maybe with Max.” At Steve’s narrowed eyes, he shook his head. “My sister. And no. Nah, it’s just—I get paid for jobs I take. I don’t have hours. I logged off.”

“So you were working tonight, and now you aren’t,” Steve said, running his thumb up Billy’s cheek, and Billy licked out and grabbed it in his mouth. 

“Mmn,” he grunted back, sucking hard, and Steve’s head thudded against the door as he made a weird startled snorfling noise. 

“Billy,” Steve whispered, yanking his hand back—his thumb scraped along Billy’s teeth, and Billy winced, wiping his mouth. “Billy, _ listen—Billy.”  _ He grabbed Billy by the shoulders of his jacket and held him at arm’s length. _ “Stop.” _

“Shit,” Billy said, realizing he’d screwed up, as always. “Jesus, you actually want to talk. Okay. Shit.” His dick didn’t even _ care,  _ still pounding with all the blood in his body as Billy avoided looking at Steve’s face. Billy pushed back to sit on the toilet. “Sorry. Sorry, shoot, go ahead.”

“...Billy,” Steve repeated, stepping close again, and Billy nodded, his peripheral vision taking in the misspelled graffiti and lack of toilet paper in the grotty bathroom where he’d hauled a prince. _ He’s gonna back out,  _ Billy told himself, and took a slow breath. “Billy?”

Billy smirked up, wishing he hadn’t promised Max he wouldn’t drink. “Not much like your—your fucking— _ consort,  _ am I. Say your piece, _ your majesty.” _

The sweatshirt hood and Billy’s fingers had messed up Steve’s hair, and he pushed it away from his frowning brown eyes. “I just...I’m paying you for the drive here, right, but you weren’t working for _ fun,  _ can you afford to—”

_ Did he notice I ordered the cheapest food,  _ Billy wondered, the humiliation sinking deeper in his stomach like he’d swallowed one of the bowling balls. “It’s fine, I’ll work more next week—”

“No,” Steve shook his head, digging his wallet out of his bag. 

“The hell do you think is going on here?” Billy asked, watching. “Are—are you trying to _ pay me for sex?” _

“No!” Steve hissed, glaring over. “No, I’m just—look, let me give you some money. Now. Let me pay you like my driver. Then I won’t—you won’t have to think about. Anything.”

“Anything like _ what,”  _ Billy asked slowly, watching a prince leaf through the wad of cash in his fancy leather wallet, and wondering what he’d been planning with so many bills. They were probably all ones, he realized. For having a good time around town, until he decided he liked the look of his Uber driver.

“Let me just—” Steve groaned, biting his lip, and tucking his wallet away. “You’re gonna have my fare to the hotel, and—if you _ need  _ the money, I’ll keep—just _ take  _ it,” he pushed a stack of bills at Billy, who glanced down at it, then back up. 

The top bill was a hundred. “What the fuck,” Billy said. 

Prince Steve laughed, trying to fix his hair by feel, and avoiding Billy’s gaze. “Do—d’you still want a blowjob?”

“What the _ fuck,”  _ Billy said once more, with feeling. 

“I’m done talking,” Steve said, shrugging. “If you—I’m sorry this is awkward, I don’t know what to—”

“You _ made  _ it awkward,” Billy glared down at the handful of cash, then back up at Steve. “Why the hell are you handing me all this money?!”

“See, now you can get pissed at me,” Steve grinned, his eyes flicking up to Billy’s expression, then down and away. “Don’t have to wonder whether I’ll pay up, now. You probably have rent.”

“I have _ rent,”  _ Billy repeated, waiting for it to make sense. “I still don’t get it.”

“I _ hired  _ you,” Steve groaned, his back thudding against the door, and sliding down it to sit on the ground as it creaked alarmingly. “I can’t—I _ hired  _ you and then _ hit  _ on you, this was such a bad idea—”

“Guess I’m just too sexy for your own good,” Billy told him, running his tongue around his teeth, and Steve stared at the motion of his tongue.

“God, you are,” he growled, folding his arms over his head. “Can we just—can we just start over? You’ve got enough money you don’t need to work tonight, and I’m—you just saw me bowling.”

“...you think I’m gonna act different if I need your money,” Billy finally put it together, and sighed. 

“I don’t know!” Steve flailed a hand, smacking it into the side of the stall. “Maybe you’ve wanted to smack me this whole time, and you’re afraid I won’t pay my cab fare! Oh,” he stopped short, and whipped out his phone. “Mark me paid, and I’ll leave a rave review, then you don’t have to worry about _ that—” _

Billy pulled his phone out slowly, considering. “So this _ isn’t  _ you paying me for sex.”

“Hell no, why would you be a sex worker in California,” Steve mumbled, flicking the wrong app, opening the weather report, and mumbling in a language Billy didn’t know as he fumbled back to the Uber app. “Ugh. You wouldn’t even have a _ union,  _ probably—”

The toilet creaked as Billy started laughing. “A _ union?  _ Uber drivers don’t even have a _ union—” _

“That’s terrible,” Steve looked up, frowning. “Do you get benefits?”

“What?!” Billy snickered harder, the inside of his skull feeling less sandpapery against his brain as he started to accept that the  _ prince _ he’d hauled into the bathroom was honestly just trying to be a responsible date. And sucking at it. “I think you’re thinking _ way  _ too hard about this.”

“I bet the owner would take my call,” Steve said thoughtfully. “People usually do. Maybe I could get some traction here with my unionization programs.”

“...you’re some kind of...union activist,” Billy asked, weirdly charmed. 

“My family took the French Revolution very seriously,” Steve mumbled, finally getting the Uber app open. 

“Anyway, this is way too much money,” Billy flapped it at him. _ “Way  _ too much money. I could take, like, a _ week  _ off.”

“So do it,” Steve shrugged, glancing up. “Watch something dumb with your sister. Buy yourself some—” he flapped his hand, “—I don’t know. I’d be paying my driver a _ lot more  _ than Uber fare, y’know.”

“But he’s probably got...training. Bodyguarding, or—or _ something,”  _ Billy whispered, staring at the fanned-out bills. Now he took the time to count it up, it was more than a week’s worth. More than a month, taking fares. He thought wildly of having money in the _ bank,  _ after paying rent. Not having to wonder whether they’d be homeless if his car broke down and he couldn’t work. “This—this is too much, Steve. This is a _ shit-ton  _ of money, I can’t—I can’t take this.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve got up to kneel in front of him, pressing Billy’s fingers around the money. “It’s yours. One-time gift, okay? I’ll be less generous next time, I promise. Pretend it came from your boss, okay? Class-action lawsuit for not having a union.”

“You’re so fucking strange,” Billy whispered, but allowed Steve to clasp his fingers closed on the cash. 

“Now if I piss you off you can throw a drink on me,” Steve said, leaning in to kiss him again, and Billy was _ hard  _ for this total freak, but he started sniggering again into Steve’s mouth.

“You were really looking for flying buffalo toys,” he whispered, and Steve snorted, shoving him into the wall. 

“Shut up. They said _ buffalo wings,  _ they should _ deliver.  _ You want a blow job or not?”

_ “I  _ get one?” Billy asked, laughing harder—not that it was funny, just he hadn’t expected to end up on a public toilet, clutching more money than he’d seen in cash outside of movies, with an _ actual prince  _ kneeling, horny, at his feet. “Am I in some kinda gay Hallmark movie?”

“I might be bad at it,” Steve told him, grabbing Billy’s belt, and Billy yelped and squirmed to get his wallet out and stuff the money in, having visions of it scattered across the floor as he threw it like confetti in the throes of orgasm. _ And in my life, everything goes down the toilet,  _ he thought, but leaned to lick into Steve’s mouth.

“Mmph,” Steve mumbled, sliding his fingers into Billy’s hair, and Billy leaned into it, letting Steve tug at his belt, and helping him pull it free. Billy fished out a condom, and Prince Steve, ready to give _ Billy Hargrove  _ a _ blowjob  _ on the floor of the public _ bathroom  _ at a _ bowling alley,  _ grabbed it, and yanked at the packet with his teeth. 

He got it open—after just long enough that Billy was about to offer help—and pulled it out, eyes intent as he ducked lower and stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth, aiming the condom and unrolling it like he was in Mission Impossible.

He _ was  _ bad at it, to the extent a hot guy doing his best at licking Billy’s cock could _ be  _ bad, and Billy came in an embarrassingly short amount of time, kissing Steve’s head in an overabundance of fondness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy's head-over-heels for his prince, and Max has some questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

_Prince Steve_ paid for the hotel—he wanted one with neon lights, ideally a blinking palm tree, for some reason, until Billy explained you couldn’t order food. In the face of a royal pout, he offered to pick up pizza, and Steve studied the menu on his phone before ordering five pizzas, deleting them, and yanking Billy closer to consult. 

Billy watched him scroll through, and leaned closer. “I could tell you all the reasons you don’t want to stay in the _cheapest_ motel,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Steve’s ear to make him duck his head in a grin, “—but...I’ve never stayed in a _nice_ hotel.”

“Ohhhh,” Steve trailed off, then pulled him into a soft kiss. “You should—you should definitely get to, I’ll take you somewhere _nice.”_

Billy breathed a sigh of relief, remembering driving back from his dad’s place, Max silent as he got a motel room and brushed rat droppings off the pillowcases. The sticky carpet had adhered to their shoes, making a crisp tape-like noise when he returned with sandwiches, and realized Max had gotten him out of the way so she could cry in the bathroom. He had tiptoed out, walked around the block, and come in again. 

The idea of taking a _prince_ to a motel with foot-long wads of hair and crud whipping wildly from the front of the AC units, or pipes so rusted out the water looked like old blood...was a great idea for a horror movie, he thought, imagining the cursive, loopy pastel font of the movie he was currently in. _I want a romcom,_ he admitted to himself, watching Steve flick the pizzas away to frown at tourist guide listings.

“The _nicest,”_ said Steve, scrolling through search results. “Hot tub?”

“I’d probably be impressed anyway,” Billy told him, staring at the pictures of penthouse suites. “That’s so much money, no!”

Steve grinned at him. “Their security is best. Technically I _am_ a target of assassination attempts—”

 _“Technically?!_ What happened?!” Billy choked, his hands tightening on Steve’s arm without his permission, like he was going to prevent...something. Steve blowing away in the wind, maybe, or someone shoplifting him. This was what the money was for, he reminded himself, resisting the urge to laugh hysterically _—_ he had _driver duties_ now, and one of them was to hang onto his prince’s hand like a helpless moron.

Steve grimaced. “It’s been _years._ And I was in the car with an _archbishop—”_

“What happened,” Billy said, and Steve grimaced, hunching his shoulders. 

“A...car...bomb?”

Billy didn’t even think, he just yanked the other _full-grown man_ in the car towards him, squeezing his muscular shoulders until Steve banged into the the gearshift. “Jesus christ on a cracker,” Billy whispered.

Steve was muttering something _else_ in a language Billy didn’t know, swearing and rubbing his hip, and Billy let him go.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry,” Billy apologized. “Sorry.”

“I don’t think I was the target,” Steve laughed, reaching over to pull Billy’s face close enough to kiss his cheek, while Billy’s head played a unhelpful recording of every movie explosion he’d ever seen, burning tires spinning away, and people trapped in crushed metal as the gas pooled near the flames. “I was greeting a black archbishop from Zimbabwe,” Steve said casually. “There were nazis—” he flapped his hand.

Billy made some kind of weird noise in his throat, cleared it, and said “Give me the fucking directions, we’re getting you to a _fucking hotel.”_

“A nice one,” Steve laughed, checking his phone. “We can get dinner.”

“Is that the only time somebody tried to kill you?” Billy asked, staring at the phone and repeating the address in his head, as a mantra. 

Steve winced, opening his mouth, then biting his lips. “Uhhhh...noooooo?” he trailed off, and Billy smacked randomly at the passenger seat, unwilling to take his eyes from the road. He connected with _something,_ soft hoodie over muscle, and Steve laughed, pushing his hand away. “Um. I…”

“You are a _shitty liar,”_ Billy told the prince in his passenger seat. 

“Maybe don’t google me,” Steve said, grimacing, and Billy gunned the motor to get through the yellow light. “Why,” Billy hissed. “Did your family get gunned down behind a theater? Are you the _goddamn Batman?”_

“What?” Steve snorted. “No? Aneurysm.”

“Holy shit, jesus christ,” Billy said, clenching the steering wheel. “Fuck, I was kidding, goddamn.”

“Just my mom,” Steve shrugged, as Billy shot him a disbelieving glance. “It’s fine, I don’t even remember her, I was just two—”

“Oh my _god,”_ Billy choked out. “I’m so _fucking_ sorry, holy _crap.”_

“She was a beautiful princess?” Steve said brightly, _laughing_ at Billy’s enraged muttering. “My dad didn’t take royal title when he married her _—_ he didn’t want to quit his job _—_ so everybody joked that if he’d been a _prince,_ he could’ve woken her up with a kiss. If only he thought ahead, right?”

“That’s _horrible,”_ Billy whispered. “That’s _so_ fucked up.”

“It’s a _little_ funny,” Steve said, shrugging, and Billy groaned, pulling into the parking lot under the hotel. 

Steve was watching out the window, his brain probably somewhere else entirely, when Billy pulled up to the window and accepted the paper ticket. “Oh, wait,” Steve said, as Billy pulled around to look for a parking space. “Did you have to pay? I never have to pay, I forgot—”

“Poor little rich boy,” Billy muttered. “Nah, I’ll pay on my way out.”

“Mmn,” Steve said, sighing. “Okay.”

“Sorry I said stupid shit about your parents,” Billy told him, grimacing as Steve got out of the car and wandered away to frown around the parking garage before smiling, waving back at Billy, and pointing triumphantly to the stairs. Billy started to follow, then remembered there was an _entire goddamn crown_ rolling around in his backseat, and climbed over to stretch for it, and wrap the thing up in Steve’s discarded starchy white wedding jacket. “Jesus,” Billy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and getting out. “Sorry, again,” he said again, trotting up, and Steve shrugged. 

“How nice? You want the honeymoon suite, or—”

“I just don’t wanna wake up to a crack-smoking _rat_ sucking my dick,” Billy told him, eyes narrowed. “You can get STDs from the _sheets_ in some of those motels.”

Steve blinked, staring at him, his mouth twitching. “That’s...vivid,” he said, biting back a snicker. “What do you think? I think I deserve a honeymoon suite,” he said thoughtfully. 

_You deserve anything you want,_ Billy didn’t say, or _I love you._ He cleared his throat. “Sure. What’s that do? You get wine or something?” He wasn’t, strictly speaking, supposed to drink on work nights, but Max would understand. Probably. Billy ran his fingers through his curls, making a face. 

“This one sounds like it’s breakfast in bed for two—”

“I’m onboard—” Billy cut in immediately, and Steve laughed. 

“—they put rose petals on the bed, I guess?”

“Only fair,” Billy nodded, leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder to look at the pictures. “Princes probably need some flowers to feel right. Few woodland animals, maybe.”

“...you saying I should sing at the birds on the balcony?”

“Yeah, charm some pigeons,” Billy nodded. “Tell ‘em you got good and laid on your honeymoon.”

The lady behind the hotel desk didn’t realize they were together, and tried to step between them to take Steve to his room, but she apologized profusely when Steve grabbed Billy’s hand. 

Once they got there, Billy stood staring at the glass shower in the middle of the room. “...I feel like a creep just standing here,” he said, frowning.

Steve snickered, pulling the hoodie off over his head. Billy watched him fold it and sit it on a chair, and missed it already—Prince Steve, cozy in Billy’s faded hoodie, smelling like laundry soap. Steve pulled the shirt off too, and then Billy wasn’t thinking about anything but _skin._

Billy peeled out of _his_ shirt, and swaggered closer to lift Steve’s chin for a kiss.

“Mmn,” Steve hummed into it, then pulled away, sprawling back across the bed. He propped himself up on his elbows to rake his gaze up and down Billy’s body. 

“Surveying the goods?” Billy asked, flexing, and resisting the urge to cover the slight softness of his stomach, come from nights eating in the car between fares instead of hitting the gym, and evenings with Max eating ice cream and watching stupid TV.

“Never done this before,” Steve said, off-handedly, and Billy folded his arms on reflex, feeling his smile turn a little mean.

“Never what,” he laughed. “Never fucked a guy? Or a what, a servant? Never been this bored?”

“Jesus,” Steve sat up again, brows scrunched over uncertain brown eyes. “You want to stop? We can—”

“No, no,” Billy took a slow breath, imagining his therapist’s voice. _Listen to what people actually say,_ she’d said. “Sorry. I—I’m—you’ve never done what. Exactly.”

“Any of this,” Steve said, pulling his legs up on the bed. 

He was scrunching himself up, Billy realized, pulling his limbs in to protect his tender underbelly, and Billy forced himself forward and put his hands on either side of Steve’s hot, slightly stubbly face. “Hey, hey, you’re all...pillbugged up. Uh...nobody knows you’re gay?” he asked the prince, in the honeymoon suite, trying to be...gentle.

“I’m not,” Steve said, scooting back against the headboard, and Billy jerked his hands back. 

“Well, I’m glad I helped you get that _straight,”_ he shot back, scrambling off the bed and yanking his pants off the floor.

“Wait, wait, Billy—” Steve crawled after him, swinging his legs down, and Billy stopped, registering his prince was so hard he was _leaking,_ his dick rubbing shiny streaks across his legs as he moved. “I’m not _straight,_ wait, I’m—I like men _too,_ and—” he frowned into the middle distance, bending his knee up again, to lean his chin on it, “—I was at a red carpet thing and Indya Moore walked by and my _heart stopped,_ I swear to god, I am definitely into…” he mouthed at the ceiling, frowning. “Thudes?”

“...sorry,” Billy said, dropping his jeans, and rubbing his face with his hands. “Sorry. I keep—I’m waiting for the punchline, tonight, sorry.” 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said cautiously, and Billy walked back over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“No, shit, I’m sorry. Sorry,” Billy said, reaching out to squeeze his prince’s hand. “You’re...perfect.”

 _“You’re_ perfect,” Steve shot back, narrowing his eyes, and Billy snorted a laugh and coughed. Steve sighed. “I should look up the words,” he said, beckoning. “So that doesn’t...happen again. Come back. Come here.”

“Thought maybe I scared you straight,” Billy huffed a laugh, scooting closer, and Steve smirked up at him.

“Gonna have to try a lot harder than that,” he said.

“Lemme kiss you,” Billy told him, feeling hoarse, then jerked with surprise as Steve surged up to kiss him open-mouthed, tasting of mint and latex, and pulling Billy across him onto the bed in a crash of elbows, knees, stiff bridal uniform trousers, and bumping teeth. “God, feels like _I_ just married you,” Billy whispered, rubbing his nose with a wince where it had connected with Steve’s jaw. 

He could feel his face getting hot again, but with Steve grinning under him, all he could think about was soft lips, and the warm, firm skin against his. “Should have carried you across the threshold,” he whispered, bracing himself on his elbows to hover over Steve’s chest. 

“Maybe you should’ve,” he said, laughing. “Maybe—”

“Maybe I _should,”_ Billy said, sliding off the bed to scoop the royal heir into his arms, spin them _both_ around—Steve whooped, slinging his arms around Billy’s neck and kicking his feet—and walking them out the door of the hotel room.

It locked.

“Oh shit!” Billy breathed, and Steve burst into snickers, hugging him tighter around the neck. 

“I’ve got the keycard in my pocket,” he whispered, kissing Billy’s jaw. “Husband.”

“Shit,” Billy answered, laughing along now he knew he hadn’t locked them out. Steve squirmed around to dig into his pocket, and waved it at the door. “Good thing it’s not real,” Billy said into his hair. “Married to me, jesus.”

“You want a divorce _already?”_ Steve asked, blinking wide eyes up at him, and Billy spun them around, kissing him on the way to the bed, his muscles complaining as he wished he’d spent more time at the gym and less time trying to keep track of Max’s anime addictions. 

“No, no, you want me, you’ve _got_ me,” Billy panted, sitting on the bed and letting them both fall sideways, so Steve’s legs were half on top of him. 

“Good, I can’t take getting dumped that often,” Steve mumbled, sliding his hand around the back of Billy’s neck, and yanking him into a kiss.

Steve was warm, and laughing, and Billy pushed back on questioning his good luck. _Something had to go right eventually,_ he told himself. _Balance out the rest of my life._ He _oofed_ as Steve rolled on top of him.

“Hey,” Steve whispered, sliding his hands over Billy’s chest and shoulders with a little intent smile like he was exploring the unknown. 

“Hey,” Billy whispered back, folding his arms behind his back, both so he could watch, and to make his arms flex. “Finding anything good?”

“Started out good, keeps getting better,” Steve mumbled, narrowing his eyes as he scooted forward to lean in for a kiss. Billy was already feeling his face heat, wondering who even _said_ shit like that, when their cocks brushed, and he groaned, bucking his hips into the sensation. “God, I’m so lucky,” Steve mumbled against Billy’s lips, and Billy barked a laugh, yanking him in by the back of his head and hair for a _slow_ kiss, the kind where Billy could see what made his prince hum happily and press closer.

Steve shifted on top of him, squishing and sliding their cocks together, and Billy made an undignified squeaking noise into his mouth. Steve lifted his head, laughing, and then leaned in again just as a knock came on the door. 

Billy didn’t even register the noise, pushing himself up on his elbows to chase the kiss he’d been deprived of, but Steve pushed him back down, laughing. “Stay here, I’ll get it,” he whispered, and Billy blinked after him, bereft.

Room service brought half the menu, it looked like, and Billy stared, sitting up. “...you’re probably hungry,” he said, laughing, and Steve lifted a few lids and stuck his finger in one, then closed the lid again and crawled over, sticking a finger full of maple syrup in Billy’s mouth as he dropped next to him. 

Billy watched him, feeling his skin heat again at Steve’s matter-of-fact appraisal of his dick, which was hard as _rock,_ dripping from watching Steve peel back out of the robe, and bend over the cart. 

“Hungry for you first,” Steve said, lying half on top of him so he could fist their dicks together, and looking kind of delighted as he tried it. Billy wondered in passing if Steve had watched something similar in porn, or invented it himself, but couldn’t hold back a groan at the feeling of tight, warm skin on his cock, and Steve’s smile as he kissed the syrup off Billy’s lips. “Even sweeter,” he whispered, and Billy snorted a laugh, his face so hot it _burned._

He’d meant to make it _good_ for Prince Steve, soft and slow, and there he was, pinned and writhing, his fists clenched in the sheets, while the royal hand worked his cock. “Billy,” Steve whispered, his breath hot as Billy moaned against his mouth.

“Anything,” Billy mumbled back, and came all over their stomachs. Steve was only a few seconds later, and Billy hugged him close, sticky and panting. “Anything,” he whispered again, burying his face in Steve’s hair.

“You’re enough already,” Steve laughed, smiling. “I was just saying your name. You’re perfect.”

Billy snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Sure,” he said, smiling back. 

Steve sat up, frowning down at his messy stomach, and Billy swung his legs off the bed and ran to the bathroom. He returned with a wet cloth to wipe up his prince’s belly, then fold it and scrub it over his sides, and up his chest, until Steve laughed and kissed him again, squishing the gross washcloth between them. 

The next morning, Billy went to slide out of bed and get to class, and Prince Stephen of Blois, Grand Cross of the Order of the House of Orange, rolled over to slide an arm around his waist, kissing his side. The royal stubble tickled, and Billy squirmed around to face his attacker. 

“Hey,” Steve whispered, reaching up to stroke his knuckles down Billy’s stubble.

Billy realized there was no reason compelling enough to leave, and crawled back over his fare-turned-seducer and prince. “…what are you doing today?” he asked, and Steve raised his eyebrows, then pulled Billy down to lie on top of him. His warm hands slid up Billy’s back as he hummed thoughtfully, and Billy was relieved to find the squirming body under him was nearly as hard as he was.

“…thought you said you had class,” Steve whispered, and Billy laughed, nuzzling in to kiss his neck.

“I get…okay grades…” Billy mumbled, catching the skin of Steve’s neck between his teeth, and feeling him groan. “…miss a day.”

Steve’s groan turned more resigned. “How about we meet again after class?” he asked, and Billy froze, then sat back, frowning down. 

“…you can just tell me to stop,” he said.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Steve told him, grabbing Billy’s hand and kissing it, so Billy could feel the royal breath, warm across his knuckles. “But you—you _stopped working_ to take me _bowling,_ I can’t make you miss _school.”_

“It’s okay,” Billy laughed, his eyes fixed on the prince kissing his hand, like they were at Cinderella’s ball. “I’m not that dumb,” he muttered. “I can miss one day.”

“You’re not dumb,” Steve frowned, and Billy’s grin widened. 

“You wanna bet, pretty boy?”

“I was…what if I want to…see you again?” Steve muttered, and Billy raised his eyebrows. “You have to tell me no, if I’m interrupting something—“

Billy squinted. “The fuck do you mean, see me again. You’re going back to—to Europe, right?”

“Not today,” Steve sighed, stretching, and then rubbing his face so Billy couldn’t see his expression. 

“Just a few days, though,” Billy insisted. “I can free up my time, I’m nobody important—“

Steve dropped a hand to Billy’s thigh. “So you do want to see me,” he said flatly, and Billy swallowed.

“Y-yeah,” he laughed, watching Steve’s hands, instead of his face. “Of course. You got time for me, I’m there.”

“...okay,” Steve said, and he sounded like he was smiling, so Billy looked up to see his foreign royalty with a little grin on his face, and pink cheeks. Billy leaned in to kiss him, and Steve mumbled happily against his mouth. “...alright,” Steve said, stroking his fingers through Billy’s tangled hair. “I’ll see you after your classes. Text me.”

Billy half-wanted to threaten him. Say _‘if you don’t mean that, just fuck me now,’_ but he took a slow breath, and didn’t do anything _insane,_ like punch next to Steve’s head, and whisper threats about liars. “Yeah,” he said, getting up off the bed, wishing he could just—just jack off _looking_ at Steve, lying there with his long legs and the curve of his ass cheek hanging out of the blankets. He thought about Max’s face if he admitted he’d tried to ditch work and school for some kind of sex marathon with a stranger, and yanked his jeans up. 

“Love to watch you leave,” Steve sang, hanging half off the bed, and Billy burst out laughing, and nearly stumbled and fell with his jeans halfway up his hips. 

“Call me,” he called back as he yanked his sweatshirt on. It smelled like expensive cologne, and he didn’t look back as he left, thinking hard about cleaning the kitchen drain to try and get his cock to go back to sleep. Steve yelled something as he closed the door, but Billy just ducked his head and ran for the stairs. 

Billy’d organized his classes to be done, most days, by eleven in the morning. It left time for homework, and packing lunches for he and Max the next day, and a nap before work.

At eleven-oh-three, he was playing with his phone, biting his lips, and looking at the contact picture of Prince Steve failing _hard_ at bowling. Finally, he tossed it in the passenger seat and drove home. 

There was folded, stacked laundry on the table, along with a piece of paper that said ‘BROTHER SHAMING: what has he left in his pocketses’ on which dwelt an empty bottle of sunscreen, a pile of quarters, the now-half-wrapped, linty Starburst candies he’d grabbed instead of cigarettes, a handful of shredded Kleenex, a tube of eyeliner that was oozing blackened water onto the note, tiny bottles of mint schnapps and mint mouthwash, and a gooey pile that might once have been a cookie. Billy bit his lips together, raising his eyebrows, and cleaned his pockets out right there on the table.

It was sort of the opposite of a treasure hunt, usually—wadded up wrappers full of gum, stuff people left in his back seat—but today he slapped down the _wad of hundred-dollar bills_ Steve had given him, and heard Max gasp from the doorway.

“Oh my jesus,” she whispered. _“Billy._ Did—what did you—did you—did you get a _sugar daddy?_ Are you—are you letting some asshole millionaire fuck your ass?!” She grabbed his wrist, squeezing it hard, but he was laughing too hard, half-collapsing against the table, to answer helpfully. “Did you rob a _bank?!”_ she squeaked. “Did you _fuck a bank robber?!_ Billy!”

“No!” He cackled, dropping into a chair, and leaning his face in his arms. “No, no—”

“Is it _real?!”_ she hissed, crouching to eyeball the money at face-level, then shuffling close to sniff it. “It smells like _Skittles,”_ she whispered. “Billy...you could go to _jail,_ don’t whore yourself out to _counterfeiters—”_

He laughed so hard he wasn’t even making noise anymore, and she punched his shoulder.

“At least make them pay with _real money!”_ she hissed. “Is your _ass_ counterfeit?! No!”

“No,” he wheezed, and she smacked his shoulder. 

_“What did you do,”_ she growled. “What the _fuck,_ brother mine.”

“It’s real,” he whispered, trying to stop giggling. “It’s real, it’s fine.”

“What did you do to get it,” she asked, eyes narrowed, and he grinned at her ferocity. _“Billy._ Are you _safe,”_ she asked, grabbing his sleeve, and he nodded, wiping his eyes.

“It’s fine, Max, I _swear._ I didn’t do anything shitty—”

“Did anyone do anything shitty _to you,”_ she growled again, like a redheaded wolverine, and Billy started snickering again, grabbing her and noogieing her head until she yelled and yanked hard on a handful of his hair. 

“I’m okay,” he told her. “I don’t owe anybody anything, I’m not in trouble, and I didn’t do anything I didn’t wanna do.”

“...okay,” she said suspiciously. “Can we...spend it? All we got is cereal and canned beans.”

“Yeah, go nuts,” Billy sighed, leaning his chin on his arms and imagining Steve’s grin, pressed against the door of the bathroom stall as he tried to hand his one-night-stand enough money to let Billy relax for a _month._ “Don’t, like, blow it all, but get some greens, maybe. I wanna take my car in, see why it’s making that whinny.”

“Damn. Yeah,” Max stared at her hands as she counted the money, then shook her head. “Christ, Billy, we could get a new toaster.”

“...it works,” he muttered, but eyed it speculatively. “Maybe we should wait. Save it, y’know. Just in case I—”

“It sparked so bad yesterday it was—it was like lightning in the kitchen,” she said with a grimace. “I threw a Pop Tart in and didn’t have the lights on, and I pushed the thing down and—GAH. Seriously, one of these days, you—you’re gonna find me on the kitchen floor with _smoking hair.”_

“Okay,” Billy nodded, making a face. “But then we gotta save some. I get sick, there’s no way to cover bills—”

“I _know_ that!” she yelled. “That’s why I want a job, asshole!”

 _“I can do this!”_ he yelled back, and she narrowed her eyes, taking a step back and away, and Billy bit his lips, turning to face the other way. “I—I’ve _got_ this, okay, just—just fucking—go to _school_ and shit, you’re fourteen—”

“You’re eighteen!” she shot back. “You can’t even buy liquor!”

“I know!” he shouted at the wall, wanting to _scream._ “I know, I—I’m—we’ll get a fucking toaster, okay, I—I _got_ you, will you just—” 

“You don’t _have_ to!” she shrieked back at him, and the neighbor started pounding on the wall. 

“Shut up,” Billy sighed. He grabbed his phone, stomped into his bedroom, and locked the door. 

He could hear Max slamming around in the kitchen, and he groaned, burying his face in his pillow, when his text alert went off. He clicked it, sniffling.

 **Prince:** You off in time for lunch? Or dinner?

Billy stared at it, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, blew out, and texted back.

 **Billy:** Out of school

 **Billy:** don’t have to work today because somebody handed me a stack of CASH last night

The phone rang, and Billy cleared his throat before he answered. 

“You wanna pick me up? I’ll get you lunch,” said his prince.

“Y-yeah,” Billy nodded, wiping his nose.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Steve asked, and he sounded so _urgent_ Billy wanted to _bawl._

“Nah, it’s fine,” he said, curling up tighter on the bed. “I—I’ll come and—you still at the hotel?”

“Yes I am,” Steve said, “I’m—is there anything I can do?”

“You already fucking did,” Billy grated out. “I have _money_ and my kid sister is all excited to have a toaster that won’t _kill_ us and worried as _shit_ I’ll get sick and we won’t have any money left—”

“A toaster?” Steve repeated, startled. “Are you—you okay?”

“We’ll be _fine,”_ Billy growled out, his vision blurring with tears again. “I’m—it’s _fine,_ it’s just—” Steve waited, and Billy rolled onto his face, punching the pillow. His throat hurt. “I don’t have custody,” he whispered. “She—I’m her _step-_ brother, you know, I just—god. Anything happens to me, she’s—”

Steve was quiet at the other end, and Billy wondered whether he’d hung up. “...but you’re fine?” he asked finally. “Right now, you’re okay?”

“I can do this,” Billy told him, swallowing hard. “She doesn’t need to—she’s trying to—she’s just a _kid,_ she doesn’t need to—”

“...she’s worried about her brother?” Steve asked, and it sounded like he was _smiling._

“She wants to get some—some sleazy job that’d hire _kids,”_ Billy growled at him. “Help _pay for things._ She’s gonna do something dumb—”

“Maybe there’s a way she could help?” Steve suggested, and Billy sat up, glaring out the window, then down at his hands. 

“She doesn’t need to! She already—she did all the _laundry,_ and she’s out with your money buying _food—_ she’ll probably cook something _shitty—”_

“I could get her dinner too,” Steve offered, laughing.

“She’s _fourteen,”_ Billy hissed at him, and Steve was quiet for a long moment.

“Uh.” Steve paused. “Um...you know you’re her brother, right?”

“I’m not, that’s the problem—and I _know,_ I’m—I’m _trying,_ I just can’t—I can’t get it _right,_ I never get anything—”

“Wait, wait, _Billy,”_ Steve interrupted. “Billy.”

“Yeah,” Billy whispered, wiping his eyes.

“Just...why do you do all this?”

“The fuck do you mean _why,”_ Billy yelled. “She _called_ me, she—she needed—she needed me to—”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve agreed, “—but why’d you do it?”

“I didn’t want my fucking dad to fracture her eye socket!” Billy told him, squirming under the covers to muffle his voice. 

“...jesus,” Steve whispered. “But you did all this for _her,_ right. She moved in with you?”

“I got an apartment,” Billy mumbled. “Ditched my roommates.”

“...so you did it to help her.”

“I _had_ to,” Billy groaned. “The hell was I gonna say?”

“You could have called the police?” Steve suggested.

“What, wait until he _does_ it?!”

“No!” Steve laughed, sounding a little raw himself. “But all this—all these—all this you do, you do for her? You do _all this_ to help her, right?”

Billy narrowed his eyes. “What’s your point?”

“Why can’t she help you?”

“She’s a kid!”

“...can I see you? Can I meet you somewhere?”

Billy cleared his throat, again. “Yeah. Yes. Let me—” he took a deep, shaky breath, and got out of bed. “Where do you want me to go?”

“...what if…” Steve trailed off, and Billy’s throat closed again, as he registered the mess he’d just dumped in a stranger’s lap. “What about a movie?” he asked, and Billy started snickering. 

“You can just _hang up,_ jesus,” he said, stretching. “When somebody starts moaning all this shit. You met me _once.”_

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Yeah, once. Liked what I saw, though.”

Billy glared at the phone, his heart pounding as he wondered whether princes actually went to some kind of _charm school,_ specifically to cause heart attacks in Uber drivers. _‘Course, somebody smarter might not take him so serious,_ he realized, then groaned dramatically through his fingers. “Fine. Awesome. What movie you wanna see?”

“I _do not know,”_ Steve said slowly. “...trying to search while I’m talking to you, and it kind of…where is there even...”

“I’ll come get you,” Billy told him, smiling irrepressibly. He ducked his head as he walked out of his bedroom, and caught the pajama pants Max threw at his face. 

“The hell are you going?!” she asked, sliding across the floor in her socks to glower up at him. “No! We’re watching Die Hard! You said!”

“Gonna meet him again,” Billy said, pulling his shoes on. “He’s leaving town.”

“You’re trading your ass to your drug lord again?” she asked, sounding resigned, and Billy stared at her. “Uh-huh. Try to get twenties this time, lady at the grocery store thought I was a hooker, I think. Probably. Or I robbed a bank? Or I robbed a hooker that robbed a bank—”

“She _what,”_ Billy mumbled, horrified, but Max shoved a handful of granola bars in his pocket, and held the door open. 

“You got condoms?” she asked, her eyes narrowed, and Billy shouted back a _YES, MAX, I FUCKING DO_ as he fled down the stairs, his cheeks _burning_ hot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Billy weather a lousy date, kiss, and make up.

Steve was in the lobby of the hotel, surrounded by three people in black suits with little microphones on their lapels. He stood on a marble floor under a crystal chandelier wearing a silvery tailored suit, and Billy nearly turned on his heel and left, but Steve got a huge grin on his face when he saw him.

It was like sun to a moth, and Billy grumbled under his breath as he stomped over, his gaze firmly on Steve’s smiling brown eyes as he hunched his shoulders and ignored the assessments of everyone else in the lobby. 

_“There_ you are,” Steve whispered, putting an arm around him and squeezing as he took out his phone. 

Billy leaned into it, taking a shaky breath as he found the warm strength of Steve’s arm _way_ more comforting than he’d anticipated. “Jesus,” he whispered, and Steve paused, then tucked his phone away again, and put both arms around Billy, leaning back to lift Billy’s toes a little bit off the ground, and it was so tight it hurt his ribs a little, and so good he thought he might cry. Billy couldn’t breathe very well or move his arms, and Steve’s suit was probably wrinkling, but he just swayed a little in place, and Billy melted into the warmth.

He took a loud gasping breath, and then another, muffling his face in Steve’s collar, and swallowed hard. “Don’t ever put me down,” he whispered, laughing a little, and Steve rocked him a little more, kissed the side of his head and _put him down,_ but pulled him in to hug his head and shoulders, stroking his hair, which was irritatingly _warmer,_ and just as hard to breathe through for different reasons. 

“How’re you doing?” he asked, and Billy groaned, slumping against him, and hugging him back. Steve was solid, and smelled like cologne and clean laundry, and his voice had a smile in it.

Billy's eyes stung. “You’re fucking magic,” he mumbled, reaching up around Steve’s back and wiping his eyes. “It’s your fucking _prince_ magic, isn’t it. God. I lo—” he cut off, clearing his throat, as he realized he’d nearly dumped a whole truck of insanity at Steve’s feet. _You just met him,_ he imagined his therapist saying. _You don’t love him, and he certainly doesn’t love you._ Billy took a long shaky breath, reminding himself not to cry just because he was shitty at raising a sister, too dumb to get a better job, one bad month from eviction, and Prince Goddamn Steve saw he wanted to be held until his bones creaked for mercy.

“Hrm?” Steve asked, after waiting, and Billy shook his head, pulling back. 

“No, I’m—” Billy cleared his throat. “That helped,” he said, and his voice cracked. 

Steve gave him a kiss in passing on the side of the head, squeezing him again as he lifted his phone and clicked past the lock screen. “I’m bringing up plays.”

 _“...theatre?”_ Billy asked, leaning into his warmth, and hacking out the ‘r’ like in long-ago French class. “You _classy asshole—”_

“No, how do I get to the _movies?”_ Steve asked, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth in concentration, and Billy snorted.

“Theat _er_...the ‘r’ goes at the end, for movies,” he whispered, and Steve squinted at him.

“What? Why?”

“My sister thinks you’re a druglord paying me for sex,” Billy told him, starting to snicker again. “She’s convinced it’s counterfeit money—”

 _“What?”_ Steve asked again, covering a snigger himself. “Why would she—”

“I mean, I don’t have great taste, usually,” Billy admitted with a snort. “But that’s a low even for me.”

“Didn’t you explain?” Steve asked, but he was grinning, scrolling past movie ads.

“She’s not _worried,”_ Billy told him, leaning into Steve’s shoulder as Steve pulled him towards the door. One of the people in suits came with them. “Kinda tempted to show up with something even weirder,” Billy whispered. “See where this goes.”

“Ooo,” Steve nodded, laughing, his soft hair shifting in the outside air. “Weirder than a huge stack of cash.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Billy told him, smiling, and a little high on his prince’s attention. He realized he couldn’t stop grinning, and watching Steve’s eyes spark mischievously as they talked, and Billy wished they were further back in the lobby, in the probably-marble bathrooms, where he could smush princes against stall walls. Steve licked his lips, and Billy was so hard he could barely _walk,_ remembering the night before. 

Even weirder, he wasn’t likely to _get_ Steve’s lips on his cock, and he realized he didn’t _mind._

“We’ll have to come up with something,” Steve nodded, frowning into the middle distance. “One of the kids I know has a pet iguana. You could get bags of dead crickets and hide them somewhere.”

Billy nearly _tripped_ laughing, not because it was that funny, but imagining Max’s furious accusations. “Oh my god, I almost want to. She’s already all pissed off, she—she thinks—” he smacked Steve’s shoulder, cackling, “—she thinks you _paid me for sex_ with _counterfeit cash.”_

“Why?!” Steve burst out, snickering harder. “Why would she even—”

“At least it wasn’t counterfeit crickets,” Billy wheezed.

“Like Jack and the beanstalk,” Steve nodded, his grin wide and silly. “Billy, did you prostitute yourself for _crickets?”_

“They aren’t fake crickets! He said they were magic crickets!” Billy shook his fist in the air, cackling. “They’ll grow into an iguana!”

“Is that _good?!”_ Steve sniggered, and Billy couldn’t help it, he leaned in for a kiss, then froze as his lips, on a public street, brushed the lips of a foreign royal who’d intended to marry a woman the day before.

“Oh shit, I’m—I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, digging his fingers in to Steve’s shirt, but Steve leaned into it, hugging him close, and turning his head into the kiss with a soft noise in the back of his throat. Somebody whistled, but all Billy was thinking about was the fucking moment in Hallmark movies where the camera swirled around the couple, and probably some confetti or flower petals floated by, and the music swelled. 

When Steve stopped kissing him, he nearly sat down on the sidewalk, and Steve and the like, Secret Service lady grabbed him under either arm, dragging him towards the parking garage until he stumbled back onto his feet. 

“Holy shit,” Billy muttered. “Are you even _out?_ Did I just blow your—did I _out_ you, shit. Fuck—fucking hell. Why the _hell_ didn’t that stupid bitch marry you. Kissing like that.”

Steve was still laughing at him, but he leaned in again, warm lips pressing briefly against Billy’s. “Don’t call her a stupid bitch,” he said, and Billy nodded vaguely, licking his lips. “And it’s fine,” Steve sighed. “We were gonna come out anyway. Bi rights.”

“...after you were _married?”_ Billy squinted at him, and Steve shrugged. 

“Nothing anyone could do, then.”

“What can they do _now?”_ Billy asked, trying to walk sideways to focus on Steve’s face. “Who’s ‘they’? Shit—”

“Billy,” Steve stopped, yanking him close for another hug. “...thanks for picking me up.”

“Sorry I screwed up,” Billy whispered, slumping a little against him, and Steve squeezed him tighter.

“I didn’t see any cameras,” said the lady in the suit, and Billy startled. “Though if you want to keep this on the down-low, maybe don’t kiss on street corners.”

“This is Lynn,” Steve told him, and Billy nodded against Steve’s warm shoulder, then let go to shake her hand. “She has to come because it’ll be a shitty date if I get shot.”

“And once you decide where you’re _going,”_ Lynn said, “—I’ll tell the boys, and they’ll meet us there.”

Steve shrugged, cocking his head to see Billy’s face. “Sorry.”

“No,” Billy shook his head. “Don’t get shot.”

“Be hilarious if somebody was into my sex life enough to put it on TV. Your sister might see it.”

Billy snorted. “She’d still think I made it up, somehow.”

“Why?!” Steve laughed. “What have you been _telling_ her?” 

“I didn’t tell her!” Billy groaned. “Okay, the last dude I brought home, he uh, he got up at three am and drank all the mouthwash, and then pissed on the kitchen floor—”

“Holy crap,” Steve said, staring at him, and Billy was fairly sure Lynn snorted as he unlocked the car. 

“You’re _way_ too good to date me,” Billy laughed, climbing in, and glancing over the dash. He wished his car had more useful alerts than “out of oil”—it’d be just his luck to have the engine fall out on the road with a _prince_ in his car.

“...I’m not too good for you,” Steve said, frowning, and Billy snorted. 

“I have the name of an ex tattooed on my dick,” Billy told him, backing out of the parking spot. “It’s _misspelled.”_

Steve snickered, but reached over and slid his fingers through Billy’s where his hand rested on the handbrake. 

Billy decided he could watch Steve laugh all day, and spilled all. “I had to bail one out the other day because he fell down the stairs and broke his leg—”

“What?!” Steve yelped, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Billy nodded, eyeing the rearview mirror. “Get this, he’s so drunk he decides to get a taxi on his _broke fucking leg,_ and he’s gonna go pretend he broke it at the casino so they’ll give him money—”

“What?!” Steve laughed harder, squeezing his hand.

“So he gets there and he can’t get up the stairs, so he yells at security, right, ‘Get me up the stairs so I can sue you! I broke my leg!’”

“Oh no!” Steve gasped with laughter, hugging his ribs as he slumped into the door.

“Yeah, he’s yelling, he _breaks a security guy’s nose with his bottle—”_

“Oh _no,”_ Steve wheezed.

“And then he calls me, _from the police station.”_ Billy laughed, rubbing his nose, and clearing his throat. “I’m _trash,_ is what I’m saying.”

“You’re not trash,” Steve told him, yanking his hand over to kiss it, and Billy nearly ran a red light. 

“Don’t do that shit when I’m _driving,”_ he hissed, staring at the road. “Give me a heart attack.”

 _“I will get you used to it,”_ Billy’s _actual prince_ said, his eyes narrowed, and Billy’s face heated until he wanted to hide it, and scream into something that would muffle the noise. 

“Jesus on a _cracker,”_ he mumbled, pulling up at the movie theater. 

Steve was fascinated with the concessions, and Billy finally pulled him aside to explain the popcorn options while an exhausted teenage boy with six elementary school-age girls tried to get them to decide on a candy each. 

Once they made it to the auditorium, Steve pushed the armrest between them up, and pulled Billy against his shoulder, and Billy lost track of the movie before it even started. His whole world narrowed to Steve’s breathing, the smell of his aftershave, and the feeling of his thumb gently rubbing between the bony bits of Billy’s wrist. 

When the credits song started blaring, he startled awake. Steve laughed, squeezing his shoulders, and Billy squinted around. “...shit, I think I...missed the whole thing.”

“Another lousy date for the list,” Steve said, smiling a little uncertainly, and Billy let his head thump into Steve’s shoulder.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I suck—”

“I should have let you pick where to go—” Steve grimaced, and Billy couldn’t have _that._

He leaned in to lick Steve’s earlobe into his mouth, and let it slide between his teeth, breathing, “No, but you maybe coulda let me get more _sleep_ last night.”

Steve laughed aloud, tipping his head to catch Billy’s mouth with his lips. Billy hummed, letting his eyes shut again, leaning into soft kisses, and wishing the credits would never end. 

The credits _did_ end, the bastards, and the light came up in the auditorium while he was still pressed up against his prince, who started laughing. “We should probably go,” he whispered, and Billy pulled back, licking his own lips, and wishing they were still against Steve’s.

“Mmn,” said Billy, distracted.

“Hey,” Steve whispered, smiling. “Can you hear me?”

“Nope, too sexy,” Billy sighed, but stood, brushing popcorn off his lap. “Where to?”

“Dinner?” Steve suggested, and Billy had a brief, stomach-sinking image of himself in some Michelin-star rated place with seventeen forks, where Steve would order a tableful of things Billy didn’t understand, probably all enormous plates with a tiny flavored dab of foam—and something weird, like a live crustacean or a potted plant, that Billy’d have no idea whether he was supposed to look at or stab into. “What’s your favorite place to eat?” Steve asked, stretching, and Billy sighed with relief. 

“Oh,” he said, thinking. 

“We can get extra for Max,” Steve offered, cocking his head to watch Billy’s face. “So maybe somewhere she likes?”

“Shit,” Billy breathed, rubbing his face to hide how _red_ it was as Steve drug him past the seats by his other hand. "She, um, she likes anything neither of us cooked. Basically."

“You hungry?” Steve asked, slowing to a stop in the lobby at the little quarter machines, for kids, that dispensed M&Ms and plastic rings and fake tattoos. 

Billy shook his head, watching him pat his pockets. “...filled up on popcorn,” he breathed, as his actual prince fed a ten dollar bill into the change machine, and returned to crouch in front of the bank of machines with a double handful of quarters to contemplate the selection. 

“Hrm,” said Steve. “What are these little parachute men?”

“Oh,” Billy wandered closer. “You, uh,” he cleared his throat, watching the tailored suit pull taut over Steve’s butt and thighs as he crouched, and over his biceps as he poked through the quarters. “You drop them from somewhere high up. The uh, the little plastic parachute um, y’know. It’s a parachute,” he said, staring down, as Steve laughed, flashing a grin up at him. 

“Hrrrm,” said Steve. “Maybe Max needs one of these toys that you squeeze and their eyes bug out.”

“She doesn’t,” said Billy, wrinkling his nose. “I guess maybe she’d use it to threaten people?”

“Ohhh,” Steve said, nodding, and began feeding coins into the machine. “I should definitely try to butter her up some.”

“I think you probably just shouldn’t be a drug dealer,” Billy sighed. “Or piss on our floor. She’s not _picky—”_

“No, presenting gifts to the family of your intended is very important,” Steve said, cranking the machine, and holding up the plastic globe with a little bug-eyed dog in it. He was grinning wickedly. “I have to get her favor, so she’ll give me permission to court you.”

“Ha,” Billy said, not really feeling the humor. “How long are you going to be in town, again?”

“Oh,” Steve blinked up at him. “I’m really not sure.”

Billy nodded, smiling as Steve suggested buying them both plastic rings, and imagining it sitting in his room, where he knew he’d eventually throw it away, to stop himself poking at it like a sore tooth. _Remember that time a Disney prince made you feel special?_ he’d think, feeling a weight on his chest.

“Or fake tattoos,” Steve said, watching him. “Maybe I need tattoos? You could put some on me.” 

“Sure,” Billy said, half-listening. 

Steve looked up at him for a long second, then dumped his remaining quarters in the tattoo machine and stuffed the tattoos in his pocket without looking at them. He stood, brushing himself off, and laughed uncertainly, watching Billy’s face. “Do you—d’you want to go back to the hotel?”

“Oh, are we done here?” Billy asked, snorting a laugh, and Steve bit his lips. 

“We could go back to my room,” he said slowly, watching Billy’s face, and Billy sighed.

“Never mind about dinner?”

“It’s only fourteen hundred,” Steve said, and Billy squinted at him, then pulled his phone out. 

Two in the afternoon. “Fair enough,” he said, half-wanting to suggest another movie, but also feeling like he was in a death scene in a movie that needed to be over already. “You...want me to drop you off? I got homework to do.”

“I thought,” Steve said, pausing, and then taking a slow breath, and making it look refined, unlike Billy’s gasps for air in his therapist’s office. “I thought—”

“What?” Billy asked, tired.

“Are you bored,” Steve said cautiously. “Do...do you want to go home?”

“No,” Billy said honestly, and his prince brightened again. 

“Come back to my room with me?” he said, licking his lips, and Billy’s dick twitched in his jeans. “Then I’ll take you to dinner?”

“Oh!” Billy said, and swallowed, wondering whether it would be worse, or better, to have more memories to try and forget. “Yeah,” he said weakly. “Yeah, of course.”

“Sorry I bored you,” Steve said, laughing nervously, and grabbing Billy’s hand to haul him towards the door. “This was dumb, let’s go—”

“It wasn’t dumb,” Billy sighed. “That’s not why I fell asleep. I just—I work a lot, I’m tired. And you’re really...comfortable.”

Steve laughed, but his hand in Billy’s relaxed, a little. His bodyguards fell in as they walked to the doors, but they stayed quiet, only Lynn saying, “Wasn’t a bad movie, actually, don’t know how much of it either of you two saw,” as she climbed in the back seat behind Steve. 

Billy kept his eyes on the rearview mirror backing out, with a few glances at Steve. “Why’d _you_ miss the movie?” he asked. “Did I snore?”

“No,” Steve said softly, looking away. 

Billy felt weird prodding him about it with Lynn in the car, and then as soon as he parked Steve hauled him into the elevator and into a deep kiss, Billy’s shoulder blades thumping gently against the back wall. He tasted like a fucking prince, like some kind of classy tea mint he must have stuck in his mouth surreptitiously before they got in the elevator, and his fingers curled against Billy’s neck and collarbones, stroking his skin. 

Billy gripped the railing thing behind him, gasping for breath in an onslaught of hot, wet kisses as he resisted the urge to yank his prince’s suit off _right there_ in front of the security camera. He let himself be drug back to the room, staring off at the glass shower as Steve dropped his toys on a chair, his hands tugging at Billy's shirt like he wasn't sure whether to unbutton it or not.

“...want to take a shower?” Steve asked, pausing as he tugged Billy's shirt straighter, and Billy wondered whether he'd looked _untidy_ the whole time. Maybe that was why Steve hadn't watched the movie, he thought, his mouth quirking. He realized his date looked like some kind of _vagrant._ “We can, uh, we can take a shower," Steve said, glancing up at Billy's face, then biting his lips. "Whatever you want to do.”

“You saying I need a shower?” Billy asked, half-serious, and Steve shook his head, stepping back to drop into a chair with a sigh. 

“No,” he said. “I’m not...saying that, I just—”

“I can go,” Billy offered, and Steve spread his hands in a quick, jerky motion, the least graceful Billy had seen him, but he didn’t say anything. “...you just kinda seem like you’re done,” Billy admitted, biting his lips in a smile, and leaning back against the table as an excuse to clench his fingers on something. 

Steve laughed, but he didn’t sound very happy. “I guess I am, then.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, between his eyes. “I haven’t paid you for driving yet,” he said suddenly, standing up, and sliding his phone out of his pocket.

“Thought this was a date,” Billy said, sounding sharper than he’d meant to. “I wasn’t going to _charge_ you for a _date.”_

“Yeah, but it was terrible,” Steve laughed, hunching his shoulders a little. “And now you’re pissed at me, so I feel like—”

“Wait, shit,” Billy said, watching him. “No, shit, I’m—I’m not _pissed_ at you—”

“...okay,” Steve nodded, smiling. He didn’t look any happier. “Okay, you’re not actually—angry, I just wasted your time.”

“No, no,” Billy let go of the table, and stepped closer to the man in the suit probably worth more than his shitty car, the _actual prince_ standing glaring out the window, his shoulders tense because he thought _Billy Goddamn Hargrove_ didn’t have fun on his date. “It was fun.” 

Steve raised his eyebrows doubtfully, and Billy stepped close enough to grab his hand, then swung his leg over Steve's legs to sit in his lap. “It was _fun,”_ Billy said, firmly. “Kind of a waste of money,” he admitted, cringing, “—I mean, I could have just nuzzled into your shoulder on-on our couch, while Max caught you up on Quentin Tarantino movies…” Billy tightened his grip on Steve’s wrist, imagining that. “—y-y’know, get a pizza. Curl up, um. Make—make some iced tea,” he said, feeling like an idiot.

“That does sound better,” Steve said, smiling down at Billy’s hand, tight on his wrist. He lifted his arm and _kissed Billy’s hand,_ his smile wide and warm, and Billy’s heart _pounded._ Steve leaned up to kiss him, asking, “...what are you doing tomorrow? After school. I mean, if you—if you want. If that was an—an invitation, I don’t want to—”

“Jesus, yeah,” Billy breathed, forgetting he had a copy of _101 Best Cocktails_ under the back left leg of his kitchen table so it wouldn’t rock, his couch was a futon he and Max had dug out of the apartment dumpster, and sometimes water poured from the fluorescent light in the kitchen when their upstairs neighbors overflowed the sink. “Fuck yeah,” Billy said quietly, tugging his prince closer to lean in for a kiss. “Gonna teach you how to eat Oreos,” he whispered, and Steve laughed, relaxing in his arms.

Billy cupped his prince’s face, keeping his sweaty paws off the tailored suit, and kissed him, inhaling royally subtle cologne. He wondered what _he_ smelled like, in yesterdays’ clothes that he’d worn all day in class, and in the bathroom at a bar, getting a blow job. Steve hummed inquisitively, and Billy realized he’d gone still against his prince, biting his lips together instead of kissing back. 

“What now?” Steve asked, but he didn’t sound annoyed, just curious, and he slid his fingers through Billy’s probably-sweaty curls. 

“Think I’ll take a shower,” Billy said, laughing. “I mean, why waste it? You can watch.”

Steve just looked back at him, cocking his head, then backed away, nodding. “Uh, okay?”

“I’ll put on a good show,” Billy promised, getting up to his t-shirt off over his head.

Steve took it from his hand and folded it, his eyes panning up from Billy’s stomach and chest, across his shoulders, and up to his face with a smirk, like Billy was really worth taking the time to look at. Billy couldn’t help it, his face heated as he shimmied out of his jeans and skivvies, making sure to give his prince the best angle of his ass, and then stand and stretch. 

Steve got up and took the jeans too, leaning in to press an urgent kiss to Billy’s mouth, so firm it pushed Billy back a step, and he grabbed the royal lapels to steady himself. “You’re beautiful,” Steve said against his mouth, without a trace of sarcasm, kissing him again, and Billy swallowed back a joke about his standards. 

“...sure,” he whispered, very aware he _was_ good to look at, in the way fast food is delicious, but anyone eating it more than twice begs for something real. “That’s me.”

“You sure I can’t come in with you?” Steve asked, running his fingers down the sides of Billy’s neck, and across his collarbones, and taking a shaky breath. 

“Sit and watch me,” Billy told him, kind of thrilled with the idea that his prince would wait, and watch, and _enjoy_ it.

“If I must,” Steve groaned, leaning in to kiss him again, lingering this time, and Billy chased the taste of the mint against his lips, letting his eyes fall closed as Steve’s warm hands stroked his ribs. “You’re getting cold,” Steve whispered, his breath warm, and Billy’s cock twitched. “Go get warm, Billy.”

“Stupid idea,” Billy whispered back, leaning into him, and Steve laughed, hugging him, and running both hands up and down Billy’s back. “Fucking—idiotic—idea,” he mumbled against Steve’s neck, as Steve slid his hands down to squeeze Billy’s ass, pulling him closer. “Gonna get you all dirty,” Billy breathed.

“Do you want to show off in the shower?” Steve asked, between sucking softly at the tender skin under Billy’s jaw. “Or d’you want to go to bed?”

“Anything,” Billy mumbled, close to coming right there on his prince’s suit. 

“Did you want a shower, babe?” Steve asked, _gently,_ and Billy stumbled backwards, nodding.

“Shit. yeah. Shit. Keep your—keep your _magic paws_ off me, christ. Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his face, and _willing_ his erection down with thoughts of the rotten food in tupperwares he and Max had had to clean out of the back of the fridge to fit all the new groceries in. Groceries she'd bought with _prince money._

“Magic paws off,” said Steve, dragging a chair over to sit facing the glass wall of the shower, and Billy’s hips jerked of their own accord. “Let me know when I can kiss you again,” he muttered, folding his hands tightly together as he sat down. 

“...I can’t _make_ you stay over there,” Billy told him, grinning as he reached in and turned on the water. “Come take what you want, if you want it.”

Steve squinted at him. “No, what? You—you said to—you’re not an _it,_ what—”

“You know where this is going,” Billy laughed, examining the little bottles for shampoo. He’d just linger a little with the suds, he thought—he was _way_ too eager to touch Steve’s skin again to fuck around with a long tease in the shower. “You wanna hurry me up, you can shove me around a little, I don’t care.”

“...what,” said Steve, as Billy stuck his head under the spray, and sighed, rubbing the the water over his skin, and thinking of Steve in the car the night before, pulling his shirt over his head so the shadow of the water rivulets trailed over his skin. 

“F’you decide I’m so sexy you can’t wait,” Billy said, scrubbing the shampoo into his curls, “—you lose that cool and yank me out of here. Teach me not to fucking tease,” he laughed, glancing at his prince, who was staring at him. 

“But...you wanted a shower,” he said.

“Yeah, but the worse a thing is that you’re waiting for, the less you wanna wait,” Billy told him, and Steve got up and came over, pressing his hands against the glass. 

“You’re worth a ten-minute _wait,_ Billy,” he said, frowning, and Billy laughed, shaking the water out of his curls like a dog as an excuse to shimmy his ass. "You're worth—"

“I dunno,” Billy called, closing his eyes to apply conditioner, “—does that make me worth the wait, or d’you just not want me all that much?”

The door opened, and Billy flinched back, laughing and wiping the soap away from his eyes to see Steve standing in the doorway. “I want you,” Steve said, his jaw set. “I could probably just—I could jizz in my pants standing over there, watching you _soap up._ But I’d never _ever_ just— _yank you out of the shower,_ what—what the _hell.”_

He sounded _pissed,_ and Billy’s body responded, his cock jerking with excitement as his hands trembled, and his throat felt tight. “Don’t, then,” he said, ducking his head back under the water, and forcing a laugh. “...good water pressure in here.”

“Billy,” his prince said, and Billy all at once hoped he hadn’t _noticed—_ hadn’t seen Billy nearly come on the spot at the idea that somebody might want him enough to hurt him. He dropped the soap, and laughed, crouching to scrabble for it. “Billy Hargrove,” Steve said softly, and Billy flinched again, and wondered if he should just drown himself in the shower. About right for Billy Hargrove, he thought, drowning with his mouth open under the showerhead, wondering if it was rain. 

“...I’ll get you a towel,” his prince said, finally, walking off to return with a massive soft plush of a towel, and another trailing on the ground that he tossed in the puddle of water coming through the open glass door. Billy just stood there with his face under the showerhead, cursing himself. “...hey,” said the royalty that had picked him up on a whim. “You all rinsed off in there?” 

“Yeah,” Billy admitted, turning the shower off, and wiping the water off his face. He leaned into the towel his prince wrapped him in, grabbing the royal face for a kiss. His hair dripped all over them, and Steve tucked it behind Billy’s ear, _gentle_ again like he thought Billy was—was some terrified pussy, just because his hands were shaking so bad he could barely hold the towel.

Billy let it drop, pressing his whole naked dripping body up against Steve’s designer suit, and Steve _stopped_ him, pulling his mouth off of Billy’s, and stepping back. 

“Shit,” Billy mumbled, spinning away, grabbing his phone, and stomping off to the bathroom.

“Billy?!” came Steve’s voice, as Billy dialed his therapist, and then saw the time.

“Shit,” he whispered, and dialed Max. 

“Brother mine,” she answered dryly, with an incredibly loud crunching noice he knew meant she was deliberately chewing into the microphone. 

“Tell me I could—the-there are—there’s s-somebody out there that would date me,” he said hoarsely, “—that’s not a shithead.” 

“What the fuck,” she said, in her _growling_ register. “I’m coming to get you.”

“No, no,” he said, trying to even his voice out. “I’m—he’s being—nice. He’s just—he’s nice, and I’m—I’m spiralling, and it’s after hours for my therapist—”

“...she’s got a degree, though. I don't think I, um,” said Max, and Billy snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, but you actually like me.”

“So does she,” Max said stoutly, and Billy smiled, leaning his face in his hand. 

“See?” he whispered around his fingers. “You’re already doing it.”

“What am I doing?” she asked, suspiciously. “Am I getting paid?” 

“You get to pick the next movie,” he told her, and she groaned.

“What the hell do you want to hear?” she asked. “There are good people out there to date? I dunno, you’re kind of an asshole magnet. I want to meet this one. Bring him home.”

“He’s being _sweet_ to me,” Billy told her, and she _hrrrm_ ’d.

“Like...patronizing dickhead sweet, or—”

“No! No, just…” Billy trailed off, his cheeks warm against his hand. “...y’know, this is stupid, I’m gonna go.”

“Fuck that. He’s being what, _good_ to you, and you’re flipping your shit?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, and the phone went _dead._ He pulled it away from his ear to frown at it, but the call was still connected, so he bit his lips. She came back in a _burst_ of sound. 

_“OKAY,”_ she shouted in his ear, and he almost dropped the phone. “Jesus. _Buttercream._ You’ve dated like five _hundred_ assholes, you moron, you had to hit the lottery _eventually.”_ Billy burst out laughing, wiping the water off his face. “It’s _true,”_ she growled. “You just ran out of dickheads to moon over. Congrats.”

“Okay,” he laughed, nodding. “...sure.”

“I think you should let me arrange a marriage,” she said flatly, and he snickered harder. “I’m not kidding. That’s what they _did_ back in the day so some _loser_ didn’t sweep in and break hearts.”

“Who am I marrying?” he asked, grinning at the floor, and she hummed thoughtfully. 

“Dunno yet. I’ll keep you posted. And I’ll need the login for your Grindr account.”

“No,” he said, hanging up, and then texting _thanks, shitbird_

 _no problem,_ she texted back. _nothing like listening to your brother on the shitter, talking about his love life_

 _fuck you,_ Billy sent back. _how the hell did you know_

 _I KNEW IT_ she sent back, then, _HAHAHAHA LOSER, get off the pot_ and a flurry of _go get ur man_ and _but if hes a prick ill kick his ass to next decade_ and Billy rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, and stared at himself in the mirror. 

He looked okay, he thought, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t as toned as he’d been before getting Max, but he shoved that thought down, sternly, imagining her left in that house, so her brother could have flatter abs. He had dark circles under his eyes, and assignments written on his hand in pen, and he didn’t look like anything _special—_ but he looked okay. He could almost see why someone like Steve would want him—and Billy’d been _right there,_ he told himself, as his stomach clenched. Billy Hargrove was _easy,_ and Steve had wanted easy. 

_He’s not expecting anything,_ Billy reminded himself, thinking he looked pale. _He knows what he picked up, he’s not expecting anything amazing. I’m good enough for a couple of fucks._

Billy took a deep breath, and rolled his shoulders, running his tongue around his teeth as he practised his slowest smile. _And fucking is something I’m really good at,_ he told himself. He winked, swaying his hips, and grinned, opening the bathroom door before he could second-guess himself again.

Steve’s head snapped up. He was in the chair where he’d sat to watch Billy shower, and he still had his _suit_ on, so Billy sauntered over, and grabbed him by the tie. “Come on,” he told his prince, dragging him over to the bed. Steve came easily, smiling, but he clasped his hands around Billy’s as soon as they stopped, and _kissed his knuckles,_ so Billy yanked his hand back, his face heating like he was a goddamn princess, getting seduced by a Disney prince.

“Stop it,” he muttered automatically, but Steve just cocked his head like he had _no idea_ what he was doing to Billy just—just _standing_ there. “Get on the bed,” Billy growled at him, pointing. 

Steve glanced from the bed to Billy, blinking, and Billy _tackled_ him, pinning him to the bed and kissing him. Steve hummed, smiling against Billy’s mouth like there was no place he’d rather be, but then he said “Billy,” and Billy ground their hips together, forestalling the obvious questions. Steve grunted, his back arching, but he grabbed Billy’s head, cupping his face. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Jesus, shut _up,”_ Billy shot back, then tried to cover it with another deep kiss, and Steve went all _gentle_ with him again, tucking his hair back and stroking his thumbs over Billy’s cheekbones. Billy made a weird noise in his throat, feeling like—like he was a _fucking child_ who’d had a cry, and shifted his hips again, trying to get with the program. 

“Thanks for staying,” Steve said, and Billy told him to fuck himself, and started unbuttoning the fancy suit. He tugged Steve into sitting upright with the tie, and slid the jacket off, tossing it over his shoulder before sliding his hands up to undo the buttons on his prince’s waistcoat. His skin was lit by the sun across the bed, warm and freckled.

Billy was hard as granite, leaking down onto his thigh. He shifted off to the side, not wanting to drip all over Steve’s suit, but Steve laughed and pulled him down into a kiss. Billy grunted into his mouth, annoyed at his prince being so _goddamn cheerful_ when Billy was trying to turn him on, and then he tugged at Steve’s probably-silk-or-woven-platinum-or-unicorn-fur shirt and found _fucking cufflinks._ “What in the _shit_ are these,” he spat, and then, “I know what fucking _cufflinks_ are,” before Steve could respond. “Are these—are these _diamonds_ or some shit,” Billy demanded, yanking the cuff around to make Steve acknowledge his shame. “Did you take me to see a _fucking Scooby-Doo movie_ in _diamond cufflinks.”_

“It wasn’t Scooby-Doo!” Steve laughed, trying to pull his arm back. “You didn’t want to watch that one!”

The poster Steve had pointed to _definitely_ had the damn dog on it, but Billy’d fallen asleep before the previews were over, so he didn’t have enough evidence to argue the point. “Diamonds?!”

“My grandma says they’re lucky!” Steve shouted at the ceiling, with the air of one confessing a crime. “She gave them to me! They were my granddad’s!”

“Why were you wearing them today?” Billy asked, tugging them loose, and then getting up to sit them down, squeamishly careful, next to Steve’s wallet. “You wanted to get lucky?”

“I wanted to impress this guy I met,” Steve said, smiling a little self-deprecatingly. “Didn’t work out, I don’t think, but at least he’s still here. Thanks to my lucky cufflinks.”

Billy felt his face heating _again,_ and his heart pounded in his chest, so he yanked Steve up by the tie again, focusing on unbuttoning his shirt. “...like you need lucky cufflinks.”

“I do,” Steve told him, catching his hands again, and before he could do any weird prince things and give Billy heart failure, Billy kissed him again.

“You don’t,” he whispered. “I’m yours as long as you want me.”

“God,” Steve whispered back, grabbing Billy around the back of his neck, and down on top of him, like it didn’t _matter_ if Billy’s dick juice rubbed all over Steve’s shiny, gadjillion dollar tailored pants. 

“Mmph!” Billy said, giving up, and just lying on top of Steve, who hummed, hugging him and rocking from side to side like a weirdo. Billy groaned, trying to recalibrate his brain on the fly to _gay loser gets lucky with random hookup,_ because it kept readjusting to _gay loser gets hopeless crush on the prince from Enchanted, cannot reciprocate love songs, and ends up in the after-credits comedy scene jacking off and crying, hugging a buffalo plushie with wings._

“...hey,” Steve said, stopping _again,_ and Billy growled in frustration. “...are you sure you’re—”

“Stop asking whether I’m _okay,”_ Billy hissed. “I’m _fine,_ I’m fucked in the head, but I’m—I’m _fine,_ jesus. I _said I’m okay,_ are you going to believe me, or—”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Steve apologized, grimacing, and Billy felt even _worse,_ lying in bed with his fairytale prince and biting his nose off when he tried to have basic manners. 

“Shit,” Billy sighed. “I’m sorry—”

“No, you’re right,” Steve said, holding Billy’s face in his warm hands. “You’re right, if you don’t want to—I won’t—I’ll listen, I promise. I will, I won’t ask.”

“Shit,” Billy mumbled again, his eyes stinging.

“Could you promise me something, though?” Steve asked, propping himself up on the bed to peck a kiss on Billy’s nose, “—if—if something I’m doing is making you—if I make you—upset. Tell me?”

“Oh my _god,”_ Billy groaned, dropping his face to Steve’s chest, and kicking his feet in anguish over Steve’s wide, earnest brown eyes. 

“Like if I’m so bad at blowjobs I accidentally bite your dick off,” Steve said, dropping back to frown at the ceiling, as Billy burst into cackling laughter.

“What?! You think you wouldn’t _notice?_ You sayin’ I got a tiny dick, Steve— _mmf,”_ he squeaked as Steve yanked him up and kissed him, slinging a leg over Billy’s ass and hugging him close. He had nothing to worry about with _kisses,_ Billy thought, his brain faltering at the sensations of Steve’s tongue, and his body shifting under Billy’s, and his fingers cradling Billy’s head. “...god,” he whispered, when he could breathe, and Steve grinned up at him, his smugness radiating. 

Billy huffed, scooting up to _teach him some things_ about kissing, and pressing him down into the bed—but he lost the thread of his thoughts again pretty quick at the feel of Steve’s tongue hot and soft in his mouth, and Steve’s lips smiling against his. “Jesus,” Billy panted, resting his head against Steve’s jaw as he caught his breath. “Get—get your pants off, christ.”

“You’d have to _move,_ though,” Steve groaned against Billy’s mouth, his warm hands stroking over Billy’s ribs. “Seems like a pretty awful idea, from where I’m sitting—”

“It is,” Billy nodded, kissing him again, and grunting as Steve wriggled their hips together, their cocks rubbing through the silvery fabric. “It’s a stupid _—mnng._ Awful idea.”

“I’m made of bad ideas,” Steve sighed, his eyes full of earnest regret, and Billy kissed him. "Terrible ideas."

“It’s worked out well for me,” Billy whispered, crouching over Steve's hips to fumble with his fly, and kiss into his mouth. He was clumsy, trying to unbutton and lick into Steve's mouth at the same time, but Steve groaned, smiling, and propped himself up on his elbows to deepen the kiss. 

"You absolute goddamn genius," he whispered, as Billy yanked at his belt, smiling too hard to properly kiss back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! =D

**Author's Note:**

>  **Thank you so much for wandering in! Lemme know if you liked my story--I lovelovelove hearing from people! Kudos! Short comments! Long comments! Questions! Constructive criticism! Comments as extra kudos! Thanks so, so much! XD**
> 
> (I try to reply to each one, but if you don't want a response to your comment then please say "No reply please" or "Whisper" so I'll know not to reply.)
> 
> Like my writing? =D Follow my writing progress and WIPs on Tumblr at [Platypan the writer!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/) Subscribe to the Harringrove without everything else at [Unrelated Harringrove Works Series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003)


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